Sand And Surf If You Can Eat The First, You’ll Love The Second

I’d always wanted to learn how to surf, but at 25, I feared I was too old to start practicing on American beaches. “Unless you’re a local’s little brother,” a surfer friend from Hawaii once told me, “there’s a good chance of getting thrashed by locals if you ride on their waves.”

I heard the surfing community was a bit friendlier in Australia. So while I was traveling along the east coast of Queensland, I decided to stop in Noosa, which my Lonely Planet guidebook called a “Surfing Mecca.”

I’m still not sure which Noosa the book was referring to; maps showed Noosa Head, Noosaville, Noosa Junction and Noosa Sound - all in a three-square-mile area. It sounded like a Dr. Seuss retirement community.

I wandered into a local surf shop to rent a board. Ty, the surf bum on duty, told me it was cheaper to just get a lesson, which included surfboard rental. He handed me a surf school brochure, which listed the instructor as “Merrick Davis, 1988 World Champion.” I didn’t honestly believe it. This would be like getting a personal lesson from Joe Namath on throwing a football, tennis tips from John McEnroe, or advice from Michael Jackson on plastic surgery. Ty let me use his phone to schedule a $20, 90-minute lesson.

The only thing I knew about surfing prior to class was that it’s not just a sport, but an entire fashion industry. And while I wasn’t prepared to spend a fortune, I certainly didn’t want to look like a total weenie in front of a world champion. Ty explained that I absolutely could not surf in the Patagonia shorts I was wearing. People would call me a “footie-head,” which I can only assume is bad. He convinced me I needed a pair of “surfies,” nylon surfing shorts big enough to be used as military supply tents.

“How come there’s no liner?” I asked.

“Liners are lame.”

“So what do you wear underneath?”

“Mate, I don’t wear anything at all,” Ty confided.

I paid $40 for a pair of maroon “surfies” that make Michael Jordan’s basketball shorts look like a Speedo. When I got back to my youth hostel, I tried them on with nothing underneath and it just didn’t feel right, so I ended up wearing my underwear, which seemed to defeat the purpose of water-going shorts, especially quick-drying ones.

Merrick picked me up in his Ford Laser. He was a bit late because he was riding swells “a little bigger than that (two-story) house over there,” he said. This seemed like a reasonable excuse, especially after he complimented me on my “surfies.”

We drove to another hostel and picked up two French guys: Francois and Gerard, and an Israeli girl, Nette, who informed Merrick that she was going to be “a hard case,” whatever that meant.

It struck me that Merrick didn’t look much like a surfer. If anything, he looked like a tennis pro. He didn’t have the long, stringy blond hair, saggy pants, bug-eye sunglasses or a chemically altered vocabulary I expected. But you didn’t have to look that closely to see the collection of surfing scars on his torso.

“Surfing is a macho thing,” he told us.

When we arrived at the beach, Merrick lined us up on the sand and began class.

Lesson No. 1: Paddle Position. “Your feet should hang off the tail, hands should grip the rail, chin should go over the stringer and let your eyes face the nose,” Merrick explained. This was very confusing to all of us, especially Nette, who practically gave up when she realized there was going to be surfing lingo involved.

Lesson No. 2: Standing Up. Merrick drew an imaginary surfboard in the sand. “It’s basically a high-speed push-up, springing mainly off the right big toe,” he said. “Unless, of course, you’re a goofy-foot, then you should spring off the left big toe.”

We practiced getting from the prone paddling position to our feet. During this lesson, I managed to collect a substantial part of the beach in my new shorts.

Lesson No. 3: Riding the Wave. “Let’s not worry about that yet,” Merrick said. This was most unfortunate because one of my favorite dance moves - and I realize this doesn’t say much for my dancing skills - is to imitate a surfer, and I was really looking forward to improving my technique.

Merrick then handed out surfboards and gave us each a chunk of wax to rub on our boards. This was intended to improve our foot grip, should we ever reach a standing position for more than two seconds.

“It is very important to rub the wax in small circles,” said Merrick, unintentionally calling up a scene from “The Karate Kid.” Then he handed out Spandex surf shirts to prevent surf rash, which as far as I could tell, means getting your chest hairs caught in the surf wax.

We waded awkwardly out through the small breaking waves to the larger breaking waves, which looked about eight feet tall. Merrick said they were only three-foot waves. Surfers measure waves differently, he claimed. “For example, the waves I was on earlier today (the size of that house) are called eight-foot waves. But in Hawaii, those would be called four-foot waves. There’s not much logic to it.”

I’m not one to make excuses, but once my surfies and underwear got wet, they must have weighed about 10 pounds and were sloshing around in the surf like a broken rudder as I tried to paddle past the wave break. Also, with my Malibu (a long, round-tipped board), I couldn’t duck-dive under the swells very easily. A huge wave promptly picked me up and smashed me into the beach head first. This was my first taste of surfing. It was also my first taste of sand.

Francois, Gerard and Nette all suffered similar fates. Merrick was always quick to the rescue and quite understanding. He suggested we practice in the small whitewater waves, which were about two feet tall, by my own measurement system.

Now, I’ve been standing for the better part of my life. But when I finally stood up on that surfboard, it was like starting all over again. “Hey, look!” I wanted to shout. “I’m standing!” I was so caught up in the excitement of the moment that I forgot everything Merrick had taught me for $20. I stood straight up and let my arms dangle all over the place. That’s why, Merrick explained later, we beginners are called “gumbies.”

Don’t think for a moment that I’m making more excuses, but I’m sure I would have actually gotten the hang of surfing if it weren’t for the ankle leash. The ankle leash has two purposes, as far as I can figure out. One is to become tangled around your legs. The other is to, during a wipe out, snap the board back into your head.

After the lesson, Francois, Gerard, Nette and I collapsed on the beach in exhaustion and frustration. Gerard asked Merrick what aspect of surfing he liked the most, hoping to find something about this sport to focus on. Merrick said, “I guess I like the feel of being wet.”

MEMO: This sidebar appeared with the story: AUSSIE SURFING LINGO TRANSLATION Stick: Surfboard Goofy-foot: Surfer who prefers his power foot in front. Gumby: Beginner Out the Back: Where you wait for the waves Impact Zone: Where you catch the wave, perfect spot Juice: The waves, as in: “How’s the juice?” The Greenroom: Riding the barrel inside a wave “All Time” or “Filth”: Excellent waves Trashed: Thrown about inside a wave Caught Inside: Trapped in the whitewater Crazy or Insane: A great surfer Bail: To get off the wave, as in, “I had to bail.” A Close-Out: Unsurfable; the whole wave breaks at once.